I Get Off
by Kunalte
Summary: Eight drabbles from two different POVs. The prompts are built around Cas being a voyeur and Dean being a repressed little shit. Roughly in order: Cas watches Dean fight, sleep, cry, breathe, be captured, laugh, etc. Dean likes being watched. Title taken from 'I Get Off' by Halestorm.
1. Fight

Day 1-Fight

Dean does not fight like it's a dance. He fights as if he loves and hates it at the same moment, emptying the Colt almost lovingly into the welcoming forehead of the demon holding Castiel. Never mind that Castiel is only seconds from removing the abomination; Dean's rage, Castiel notes, seems to be triggered by the very presumption of its attack on one that Dean (Castiel hopes) he holds as a friend and perhaps something more (Castiel wishes. Too desperately for an angel). He doesn't understand what it's called or what it means, this strange urge to make himself everything to Dean, but he can't say he particularly minds it either.

Most of the time it's ignored, neglected-much as Cas ignores the strange heat wreathing up his vessel's body as he watches Dean fight.

Fight-Part 2

Dean can feel Cas's eyes on him and it drives him into desperation. Memories of human Cas-frightened, trapped in a strange body, and so utterly alone and unreachable-awaken fierce protectiveness usually reserved for Sam.  
Sam is miles away at the police station.  
Cas is here.  
Cas is held by a demon, its henchmen crouched between him and the son of a bitch gripping his angel and damn but that thought came out of left field.

Adrenaline floods his system and he rolls with it. One arm backhands a demon and Ruby's knife finds the other's back. Maybe he'd stunned the first-the meatsuit doesn't get back up, at least for the moment.

There is nothing between him and the aforementioned son of a bitch.

Hand and Colt melded, the jagged pieces of time snapped together with the crack of the gun, slug twisting itself viciously into the thing holding Cas.  
The world stops as the angel is freed and Dean can't breathe and there's pain and power and something that can't be lust mixing in Cas's eyes just before he stumbles and Dean's arms are, quite suddenly, full of warm trenchcoated angel vessel.


	2. Sleep

Dean as eyecandy :D  
Dean isn't very repressed when he's sleepy :D  
Cas is a blanket :D  
Dean is a whore :D 

Music: Mz. Hyde-Halestorm for Cas/Bromance-Niga Higa for Dean

Day II-Sleep

If Dean was awake he would push him out and complain about personal space.  
Dean is not awake.  
Nor will he awake; Castiel is bending most of his considerable concentration towards keeping him deeply asleep. An extravagant misuse of his Heavenly powers, he's sure, but somehow he can't bring himself to care.

Dean lies on his side, curling towards Cas like a flower towards the sun. It delights him, delights him almost as the smooth line of Dean's bare torso and the way the thin sheet covering him rides low on his hips. He's all smooth angles and curves of muscle, skin silvered by the moonlight.  
Castiel recognizes him for the beautiful creation he is, and not only for his stunning soul; this vessel was made to house the Righteous Man. It's a work of art.

In this moment, Castiel wants exactly what an angel, even a fallen angel should never want- to touch, to hold, to feel, to fuck and be fucked. Run his hands over broad shoulders, down his smooth back, plunder his mouth-

Cas's breath hitches and takes an involuntary step forward. Dean will not awaken unless his concentration is broken, and morning is hours away. This longing for Dean is so strong, and Castiel thinks he's never been more human than at this moment.  
So he takes the plunge, gives in, every tenet of of his sacred culture calling blasphemy in his head.

The sheets are warm and smell of Dean's-aftershave? deodorant? some musky, decadent human thing. The angel revels in it, sliding a tentative hand around Dean's waist, pushing down the guilt.  
He is an angel. He knows he may never have this again, and that more than anything else drives him to fit his body to Dean's, slip a leg over his lax thighs, hold him tightly, back-to-chest.  
Cas forgets to concentrate. Touch and scent and soft tongue on golden-smooth skin break his focus. 

And Dean awakens.

Day II-Sleep pt. 2

Dean is warm for the first time since the fight with the demons.  
Warmth is a nice, heavy feeling, like a weighted blanket, or like being cuddled up to, and hey, maybe he did pick someone up tonight, because that is definitely someone behind him and how the hell could he forget bringing someone home from the goddamn bar.  
He tries to breathe evenly as he assesses the gender of the warm cuddly thing pressed up around him. 

No tits, hard to miss those-and a half-hard dick emerging from the hips cupping his ass. Dean wiggles back into it a little bit. Not doing too badly there, Mystery Man. All of which-well, stiff dick and so on- raises another question-did he not reciprocate? Because that's not Dean's style. Satisfying the lucky ones who make it into the Cheap Motel Bed of Dean Winchester (his baby's backseat is out of the question) is a point of pride with him.  
Mystery Man seems to be awake, so Dean shifts-reluctantly, he's quite liking this warmth thing-and rolls over to ask him how the night went down.

And son of a bitch, he's seeing Cas. Dean puts it down to too much at the bar and blinks. Still Cas. Looks away and back. Very much Cas. Cas with feathery sex hair and wrinkled button-down (which, in bed? Really?) and staring wide-eyed and terrified and guilty at him. At Dean.  
That kind of hurts.  
Later, though, Dean thinks it may have only been that blue-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights stare that keeps Dean from making an Olympic leap out of bed and across the room.  
He's had countless guys, but he's not gay. Which is why Cas terrifies him-Dean's one relationship tenet, ever since Lisa, is never to get involved with anyone he cares much for. And he cares far, far, too much for Cas. Maybe as much Sam. He can't risk losing him, he should run now, but he's tired and Cas is warm and vulnerable-looking and goddammit all.  
He has a few options here and almost immediately cancels out most of them. He's already decided he's not moving from this bed and Cas's arms. Sex is right out-it's far easier to fall the rest of the way in love with a broken, beautiful, fucked-out Cas than sleeping quiet Castiel. 

So because Dean is a gentleman with an adolescent crush on an angel of the Lord, he turns over, cuddles into Cas, and goes back to sleep.


	3. Cry

Creepy possessive-yet-loving stalker Cas :D

Psycho

I'm so sorry I can't write xd

Day III-Cry

I'm here, he wanted to say.

You're not alone, he wanted to say.

What he ended up saying was-nothing. Which surprised no one except perhaps himself.

Dean had broken already when they rescued him. Not a mark on him, albeit a few minor bruises; but in the warehouse where Crowley had chained, him, thousands of dead Castiels and Sams littered the cold cement floor like autumn leaves after a high wind.  
Each of their faces was fixed in a silent scream.

Dean had hung silent in his chains, staring fixedly at the empty eyesockets of the nearest Cas. When they took him down, he began to tremble and mutter, muscles spasming whenever he caught sight of Sam or Cas.

That night he locked himself into the motel's bathroom and Cas spent the evening distractedly acknowledging Sam, and inwardly cursing Crowley, cloning spells, and the walls separating him from Dean.

Through the thin panel door of the bathroom, Castiel could hear Dean pressing himself tighter into a corner. The soft velvet brush of blood against tiles as he dug his nails into his wrists hard enough to draw blood.

His ward, his heart, was alone and in pain. Cas could feel the terror and mental agony rolling off him like waves on a beach. As it entered his consciousness, Castiel became aware of something else, something strange and yet terrifyingly familiar: the longing, the yearning, the desperate need to be close to Dean. Almost the same as it was the one night he had held a sleeping Dean in his arms, but it has changed. Older. Deeper. Wilder. Not to be denied or defeated with sacred platitudes-but perhaps held off. For as long as Castiel can. After the trauma his hunter has been through today, Sam has warned him that approaching Dean might simply make him worse, and Cas can't risk that.

He holds out for another hour, and in the end it's Dean that rips his control to ribbons. Dean has begun to make sickening noises that are halfway between a bark and a choke, although there's no physical reason for them that Cas can detect.  
The nauseating sounds smooth and coalesce into something harder, more real, Dean's tortured-bass-violin of a voice spitting out his name in a strangled, desperate way that has the angel's heart breaking. He is known, recognized, needed, by the one he adores, and said one he adores is lost in the darkness of his mind.

Castiel kicks down the wall to get to Dean.

Day III-Cry

Blue eyes.

Blue eyes flooding with blood, rolling up, falling to the floor, screams of an angel make discordant music with the laughs of a demon

blue eyes blue eyes

He can't save Cas. He can't save Sam.  
When did he become so worthless?  
Dean watches as another Castiel is dragged in to stand in a pool of the previous one's blood, and another and another, wheel of time and he would laugh if he weren't so goddamn broken.

In the end, Dean's only coherent thought is that he would have preferred the knife. End his mistakes and failings and faults.

And then a different kind of Castiel walks in. The verb works this time, for instead of being dragged in screaming and naked (which only made Dean's heart ache more) Castiel walks in on his own power to stand in front of Dean, who is now, curiously enough, crouched in the corner of a bathroom instead of hanging twenty feet in the air in a warehouse.

The blood and screams are gone and it's almost like being able to think again.

Castiel looks like a ruffled stray pup, his eternal angelic sex hair all kinds of rumpled, trenchcoat scuffed up and wrinkled, and those enormous drown-in-me blue eyes are locked on his own.

Castiel is clarity and purity and power and Dean is not worthy of having the angel near him, Cas has to go, has to wing his ass to Heaven before Dean screws him over like he does everything else he touches.

A beat after Dean realizes he said this aloud, his treacherous chest lets the wrenching sobs gathering there out.

Cas is at his side not a second later, trenchcoat bunching up around them as he half drags Dean into his embrace.

"Don't you dare fly off, you son of a bitch. Not this time." Please. God, please.

"I'm here, Dean. I'm alive. Ghosts don't hug you back."

They hug for a few more moments. Nothing is okay. So many people aren't coming back from the wars but Dean thinks that maybe, just maybe, as long as he has his brother and his angel...they'll be all right. And for now, that's good enough.


	4. Breathe

If Castiel is a storm, Dean is the sea.  
He sleeps in waves, breath rushing in a tide through the pink seabed of his lungs.  
When he opens his eyes, Cas will see the broken green glass of his eyes, red-rimmed like the first blush of an ocean-caught evening. He lays a hand on his hunter's shoulder, burned golden as a tortured sun-and golden it may be, but it's cool from the caress of conditioned air. Fresh and silky as a tide pool.  
This man, this human, this mortal, who should by all rights (and all Castiel has ever been taught) should be weak. He should be fragile and beaten and worshipping at Castiel's feet.

His breathing should not be as smooth and guileless as it is now.

Looking at this creature of wave and stone and tide, stretched on the sheets of a cheap motel bed, is something of a blasphemy.  
Perhaps because he is unbreakable, and that's not something any human should have. It should belong to angels, but Cas has seen too many of his brothers and sisters break and fall screaming to believe it does.

Dean has come through so much. 

He is still so alive.

At moments like this-awake while the rest of this strange and frightening globe sleeps and as drunk as he'll allow himself to get-Cas thinks that if there's anything left to believe in, it's Dean.


End file.
